Page 71 of Switch!
Join the Circle of Light!
Have you experienced strange events that you can’t explain? Need an open-minded group of people to share your story with? You won’t find any judgement here. We are fellow seekers of truth in a world that is much more than it appears on the surface. Join us on our quest for enlightenment. We meet each day of the psychic fair in conference room 203 at 2pm. Leave your skepticism at the door, along with any outside food or drink, please.
“What’s this?” I ask.
Gismonda shrugs. “A man was passing those out earlier in the day. He wouldn’t stop talking, so I said he could leave his flyers on my table if he promised to go away. Sounds like a very silly group to me.”
“Then why—”
“I saw you surrounded by a circle of light. That’s what the spirits showed me. They don’t always talk in words, you know. Some of them are older than such things.”
I wait for her to say more.
She doesn’t.
“That’s it?” I ask. “The spirits didn’t say—or umm—show you anything else?”
“They said I need to clean out my refrigerator. I don’t see how it’s their business, but nothing is worse than food poisoning, so I’ll do it. Only an idiot ignores the spirits.”
“Oh.” I don’t want to be an idiot, so I suppose I’ll go to this Circle of Light group, no matter how lame it sounds. “What now?”
“I need a hotdog,” Gismonda says. “Maybe two. Meeting you has exhausted me.”
“Sorry,” I say, reaching for my wallet. “How much do I owe?”
Gismonda holds up a palm. Just one, thankfully. “That isn’t your money to give. You can pay me back by releasing him, once you have another choice. This man has his own destiny to fulfill. You shouldn’t get in the way of it.”
“I’ll try not to,” I say. “Thank you.”
Gismonda nods as if satisfied. Then she walks away. I guess she isn’t worried about anything being stolen from her booth. Now that I look closely, there isn’t anything of value, just some printed material, none of which appears to be hers or for sale. The only thing substantial she has to offer, it would seem, is the truth.
— — —
Circle of Light? More like a circle of chairs. And not that many. I count them under my breath to give myself something to do aside from fidgeting nervously. Twelve chairs, only six of which will be occupied. That doesn’t include the middle-aged man standing by the door and speaking to anyone who passes by.
“Circle of Light? Are you looking for us? No? Ah. I see. The restrooms are just around the corner.”
Is he the one the spirits sent me to meet? If so, I’m surprised. He looks like a normal guy. Not that I’m anything special. Strange things can come in boring packages, it would seem. I consider my fellow truth-seekers, who appear just as ordinary as he does, except for maybe the Asian girl with a funky sense of style. She can’t be much older than me, if I was still in my original body. Her parents probably dragged her to the psychic fair. I bet she only joined this group to get away from them. Unless she can levitate objects with her mind or something cool like that. I wish she would. All anyone has done so far is stare off in different directions to avoid making eye contact. Maybe that will change now that the host has closed the door.
“Is everyone settled?” he asks. “You helped yourself to coffee and donuts? Sorry we can’t let anyone bring their own food. We had an unfortunate incident with homemade brownies last session.”
“Did everyone get high?” asks the teenage girl with a mischievous smile.
“No,” the man replies, “but we had ample opportunity to ponder the mysteries of the universe while locked in the bathroom that night. At our individual homes, of course. We weren’t all sitting on the same toilet. That would be weird, even for us.” He laughs madly and clears his throat. “Anyway, it looks as though we have some new faces. I find the best way to begin is by introducing ourselves and saying a little about what brought us here. Before we do, I’d like to remind everyone that this is a judgement-free zone. So many experiences can sound unbelievable until they happen to you.”
Ain’t that the truth!
“I’ll get started,” the man says. “My name is Charlie. When I was a little boy, I used to be visited by an angel. He would appear above my bed at night and whisper comforting words to me. My parents were going through a divorce and it was a very difficult time in my life. I continued to be visited by this angel, even when my mother and I moved to a new apartment. It’s only when I reached puberty that he stopped appearing, although I’m not sure why.”
Probably because Charlie started dreaming of girls instead of angels. It might be unfair to dismiss his story, but he was in bed at night during these visits, so the most likely explanation is a waking dream. Now if the angel strolled into the kitchen while he was eating cereal the next morning,thatwould have been something!
“How about you?” Charlie says, gesturing to an elderly man with dark bags under his eyes.
“I wish my problem went away so easily,” the old man says in a dry voice. “I’ve been poked and prodded by aliens every night for the past twenty years. I’ve set up traps to get ‘em, hid video cameras around the room to catch ‘em in the act, and even paid people to watch over me at night. Nothing stops the little buggers! They paralyze you with their minds, you see, and if they can make a car stall when it’s driving down a country road, you can sure as hell bet they know how to turn off an iPhone!”
“I see,” Charlie says patiently. “What was your name again?”
“I’d rather not say. They’re tuned into it. If I say my name out loud, they’ll find me.”
